The plane touched down with a gentle thud, wheels meeting runway, the cabin filling with that collective exhale of travelers arriving.
Luca blinked awake—he'd dozed off somewhere over the ocean, head resting against Noel's shoulder.
"We're here," Noel said softly, pulling out the shared earbud.
"Already?"
"You slept through the last hour."
"You should've woken me."
"You looked comfortable." Noel was already gathering their things, efficient even half-asleep.
The usual chaos followed—waiting for the seatbelt sign to turn off, passengers standing too early, the slow shuffle toward the exit.
Baggage claim. Customs. The long walk through the terminal that always felt longer when you were tired.
By the time they caught a taxi outside, the sky was deepening into early evening—that in-between time where day hadn't quite surrendered to night.
The drive home was quiet. Familiar streets replacing Tokyo's organized chaos.
